Battles of Forbidden Love
by Lucifer's-Secret-Angel
Summary: A Diablo II twist on Romeo and Juliet's forbidden love
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Collapsing onto the back of the cold tall column which aided in the support of the heavy underground tower, he clutched the sharp bone Kris tightly to his right hand in attempt to calm hi ragged, heavy breathing.

"...concentrate" He reminded himself.

Wiping the perspiration from his damp brow and upper lip, he forced himself to close hi eyes, letting his other senses take control.

"Sight...it is the weakest and most unreliable of the senses. When it comes to fail, close your eyes and let the others take control."

The words from his elder master still echoed in his head, guiding him movements. He concentrated, relaxing the rest of his body, letting himself become attuned to his surroundings without actually setting eyes upon them. He steadied his breathing, observing how his other senses began to take control. He felt the cool stone under his fingertips, as they grazed the column at his back. He could hear the faint dripping sound of the moisture seeping through the cracks of the stone in the ceiling above him. Because of all the rain the Blood Moore had received, the earth's water table had risen enormously. It wasn't sure how long this underground tower cellar would remain standing under the weight of the moisture heavy earth.

There was another sound. He concentrated harder, never letting his guard down. His ears pricked up to the new sound of plated heels echoing down the long dark walls. The steady clank of the metal soles made his adrenaline level rise immensely, giving him the rush he knew so well and loved in the heat of battle.

Excitement.

Soon, they would face each other again, but this time, he was the one calculating...waiting, anticipating. Any second she would round the corridor, setting foot to where he awaited her presence. He drew his dagger tightly to his side sensing her movements. She had moved faster than he had expected.

"T'would be expected though, since this is her home right?" he reminded himself.

Already he could smell her foul stench of decay, as she inched closer, barely a few meters from him.

Closer, he drew in a breath silently.

A few feet.

He gripped the sharp Kris in sticking position.

One foot.

"Now!" he screamed in his mind.

Without a single second thought, his body spun out from behind the stones, and with just as quick of a movement, he sprung the jagged blade forwards, thrusting it into the shocked Countess's abdomen. He watched as the be-witched Countess's mouth dropped open in a silent scream. Her eyes stretched wide, she dropped her Thorne Club with a clatter, and brought her hands down to where the dagger had impaled her. The Young man smirked at the witch as she growled at him, flashing her feral eyes.

"You!"

The dark armored man smiled evilly, his eyes flashing back,

"I was waiting for you."

And with that he sealed her death by giving the bone blade a sharp twist, feeling the jagged angles of his weapon tear further into her muscles, ripping through the flesh, tearing apart the organs before cracking into the delicate meril of her ribs. The young man's grin widened as a shrill scream of pure pain and agony tore from her throat, and her evil, tormented soul escaped in a wispy blue smoke through her bloodless black lips. He released his grip on the handle, letting the body collapse to the ground, taking the lodged dagger with it.

He kicked the pile of flesh as he knelt down to retrieve his blade, only to have it snap in two pieced in his efforts. Standing back up, he scowled, throwing the broken Kris back down onto the floor.

"Useless..." he grumbled.

Turning on his heel he brushed a few strands of his long white hair from his eyes before he started off towards the next room.

"Now...where is my treasure?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He slowed his step as he finally finished his trek back to the Rogue Encampment. Walking past Warriv's caravan, he grunted in annoyance as the heated argument of two barbarians reached his ear. The reinforcements had arrived. The witch Akara was afraid her precious encampment would be shortly over run by the latest threat from Andariel. Pathetically weak this encampment was when he first arrived. Barely even fifty warrior Rogues to protect the gates. Pathetic. So she had put a call for aid out to all the corners for both mercenaries and warriors. Her saviors had arrived. Although, if it weren't for the bounty upon Andariel's head, he never would have even bothered to come under the name of aid. He suspected the others had the same notion as well. He exhaled deeply as he sat down upon a wooden log over looking a large fire pit, waiting to be lit. He peeled off his blood stained leather gloves, slapping them down beside him on the wooden bench. He brought his hands to his face, letting out an exhausted groan while tending to a steady ache that had begun to pulse through his forehead. He closed his eyes, gently rubbing his temples, easing the pain. He brought halt to his movements though, as a heavy pair of footsteps halted before him. Slowly he brought his hands down to his lap, he looked up.

"So .... You're the necromancer huh?" The long white haired man looked at the newcomer.

Shoulder length orange hair, animal fur armor, and pack of white wolves sitting on their haunches not a meter from him. A Druid, he noted, smirking,

"...can I help you?"

The taller man laughed and stuck his arm out in a greeting,

"The name's Klarin...are you are...?"

The Druid paused, looking questioningly at the Necromancer.

"Gaelix..." he replied reluctantly, ignoring the Druid's outstretched arm.

Klarin nodded withdrawing his hand in understanding the necromancer had no intentions of common courtesy towards him. Taking a seat on a stone he chose to ignore the Necromancer's signs of unfriendliness.

"Gaelix huh? I hear your from the west, from the Underground City of Tombs."

Gaelix ignored the talkative man, and began to remove his forearm and shin guards. He had met many Druids in his life, but never, had he met one as talkative as Klarin. He could already feel his headache coming back.

Gaelix had just about had enough when the sight of a large caravan pulling up at the front gates of the encampment distracted him, He watches as Akara left her grounds in greetings. The Druid had noticed Gaelix's diverted attention and silenced. He followed the Necromancer's gaze in time to see a series of clocked figures file out of the back of the wagon. Gaelix watched intently as the new visitors walked into town, followed by what seemed to be an anxious Akara. He heard Klarin whisper over to him,

"...Sorcerers..."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Gaelix watched, mesmerized by the cloaked figures as the glided closer towards him. As they approached, he turned his attention over to Klarin's wolves that had begun to growl at the new comers. As they came to their side, one of the wolves jumped the leading figure. Klarin gave a sharp yell, telling the wolves to back down. A couple whimpered as they obeyed their mater's command. With a shrill whistle he then sent them off on their own into the Blood Moore.

"Sorry about that...they can be a little...aggressive at times."

As Klarin spoke, the leader pulled his hood back, revealing a long dark haired middle aged man. Gaelix squinted, he had seen that man somewhere before. The man gave a warming smile to the two men.

"Not a problem. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Osiris, Lord of the Eblarinn Towers in the North."

With a wave of his hand the five following cloaked figures lifted back their own hoods to reveal three more sorcerers and two sorceresses. Gaelix couldn't help but stare at the sorceress that stood directly ascending to Osiris. Her long dark brown hair was cut so it framed her young, feminine face, bringing out the emerald color in her eyes. Her face was none the less than....perfect. His eyes darkened though as he watched Osiris take her hand and pulling her forward, he introduced her.

"This is my Lady Saraliss, and my fellow practitioners. Now, gentleman, I am afraid we have some business we must attend to. We will excuse ourselves. Good day and...till me meet again...Come."

With those final words, Gaelix watched on as he ushered Saraliss forwards, towards their assigned tent. He couldn't help but notice the young sorceress wrench her hand from his grasp, omitting a dark scowl onto the Lord's face. He lifted the tent's hide back, pushing her into the shelter, before following himself.

"...Something wasn't right about the sorcerer Osiris. Something wasn't right about the young sorceress either." The Necromancer noted to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Wandering to his own tent, he couldn't get the sorceress of his mind. Passing past the thick fabric entrance and into the dark shelter of his tent, Gaelix threw down his gloves and guards onto the small wooden table. Things had been fine up until today, now so much was on his mind. He couldn't help but growl as the image of the sorcerer Osiris entered his mind. There was something about him that wasn't....wasn't right. Moving to the rear end of the tent, he lifted the heavy wooden lid to where he kept his stash. Potions of the sort, any of which an experienced mercenary would need. Healing potions, Mana potions, Antidotes, Stamina, Freezing and Rejuvenations. Back in his childhood, he had studied to become an alchemist. He had always been good, except that the new time required other skills. There were no lives for young male alchemists. Gaelix pushed a couple rolls of parchment aside to reveal a whole other rack of bottled wonders. Lifting one of the smaller vials filled with a bright blue liquid to his eyes. He tapped the round glass bottle with his pinky finger, watching the potion slosh around the dies. He kept this movement up, letting the syrup mix, watching as the blue seemed to begin to give off a slight glow amongst his dark surroundings. Once a light foam settled on the top he set the bottle down on the ground beside him. From the bench, he grabbed a pieced of cloth and seated himself down on a fur rug. He began to unbuckle the ties, holding his armor to his body, one by one.

Akara's bell signaling that their meal would be served, reached his ears.

"Shit..." he mumbled.

He had to make this quick if he didn't want to miss dinner. He finished the buckles on his armor, and lifted the heavy silver plates and black leather over his head, resting them down beside him. He brought his hand down to his chest, inspecting the damage. Three deep scratch marks decorated his pale chest. Dried blood rusted along the edges of the wound, and intense contrast on the white of his skin.

"Can't afford to let this get infected," he coaxed himself as he reached again for the blue vile.

Uncorking the top, he leaned back a little bit, propping himself up on his elbows. Slowly and carefully, he tipped the bottle on its side over the top of the exposed rip cuts from his encounter with the crazed countess. Clenching his fists tightly, Gaelix hissed in pain as the blue glowing liquid sizzled into his open skin. He poured the foul contents onto his wound before chucking it at the table, watching it shatter into pieces upon impact. Grabbing the long strip of cloth, Gaelix began to quickly wrap it around his chest, binding his wound tightly in protection. With a grit of his teeth, Gaelix gave a tight tug on the ends of the bands to tighten them before he knotted them together. Gingerly, he stood up and waked over to a pile of fur rugs lain on the earth floor. Picking up a long vest, he clothed himself before rushing out of his shelter towards Akara's tent.


End file.
